


the recruit

by flutter_bi



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutter_bi/pseuds/flutter_bi
Summary: Assassin/Nikita AU: Six years ago Ginny was recruited by a Black Ops program called Division. She found out four years later, when they killed the man she loved, that they’d gone rogue and were no longer working for the US Government. Since then she’s been on the run. Hunted by her trainer, the one person she thought she could trust, Mike. But as she learned long ago, things with Division are rarely what they seem.





	the recruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BangableHott](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BangableHott/gifts).



> This is based loosely, very loosely, on the show Nikita that aired on the CW from 2010 - 2013. You don’t need to have seen that show to get this story, everything should be pretty self-explanatory. But anyone who has see the show (or La Femme Nikita or Point of No Return or anything where a woman is kidnapped and trained to become and assassin and then turns on those who kidnapped her) will get this. 
> 
> Hopefully the end isn’t too abrupt. I was getting to the point where I had to stop or it was going to continue on forever and ever, because these and their drama provide plenty of fodder in pretty much any universe. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Six years ago she was taken from prison. Forced to become an assassin for a secret unit of the government, a Black Ops program called Division, that has now gone rogue. They destroyed her identity and they destroyed the man she loved. She escaped and now the man who trained her, someone she trusted, is hunting her. What Division doesn’t know is that she has partners on the inside. Together they're going to take Division apart one mission at a time, and the last word they’ll breathe before the end will be her name._

 

* * *

 

She’s been running for so long that she barely knows what it is to be still anymore. To stop and take stock of the world around her. Two years with one eye over her shoulder and one on the path in front of her has left her with no real concept of being in the moment.

Maybe that’s why this hurts so much. Reckoning with the past in her own time is one thing, but having it violently thrust upon her when she least expects it is another form of torture altogether. One she should be used to though, especially where Division is concerned.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? She should have known better, should have remembered that when Division is involved nothing is as it seems. She could be excused for making the mistake in the beginning, for not seeing the full board. After all it’s a lot to take in, coming home to find the man you love bleeding out on the bed you made love in only hours before. Who could think clearly after that? What kind of person could be expected, in a moment like that, to consider the possibility that it was all a lie?

A smart recruit, the voice in her head that sounds more gruff than anything she’s ever said supplies. The deep rumble of disappointment rolls through her and she almost wants to call him. Apologize for not remembering his first lesson: _A mission is a mission, not your life. The people you’re with when you’re under are not your friends or your family. And if they knew who you are, who you really are, they’d fear you, they’d hate you, or they’d kill you. No exceptions._

And if she hadn’t been so busy thinking about his reaction to her original stupid mistake then she probably wouldn’t have made the current one. She would have followed her own security protocols, or hell, at least taken the time to look through the big glass windows that serve as the walls of her sprawling home. She probably would have felt the wave of unease before it was too late.

But that’s the lesson, right? Emotions fuck everything up. If only Michael could see her now.

“Look what we got here. Ginny Baker in the flesh.”

_Well, shit_.

She doesn’t bother reaching for the gun at her back or the knife at her hip. She might be faster than him now, but he still knows her moves. He should, he taught her most of them. The idea of running leaves her mind almost as soon as it enters it; he would have prepared for that, too.

So...that just leaves one option: a détente.

“Hello, Michael.”

He’s smirking at her. He’s sitting in her kitchen, in her home, holding what she’s pretty sure is her gun, and the bastard has the audacity to smirk at her. And damn if doesn’t look good on him.

“Long day, recruit?”

“Ah well, you know, ran into my dead fiance, got chased by some men with guns, and came home to find a rat crawling around on my stuff...the usual. You?”

His hip is up against the counter, like he’s having the most goddamn casual conversation ever. “I had a tough day at the office.”

“Hmm. I assume that killing innocents and toppling empires can be exhausting. Can I get you something to drink? Grape soda. Maybe a little cyanide.”

“Maybe later. Take a seat.” He gestures to one of the chairs on the other side of the island and, again, she has to remind herself that he’s in _her fucking house._

“I’m good standing.”

“That wasn’t a request, recruit. Sit your ass down.” The quick bark of anger would probably have most people scurrying along to follow his orders, but she’s not most people. As it is, though, she continues eyeing him warily as she takes the seat across from him.

“Still just as charming as ever, I see.”

“Yeah, well, we do what we can.”

Unlike most men, whose weaknesses she can usually suss out in thirty seconds flat and at sixty paces away, reading him has always been a bit of a problem for her. He never had any of the usual tells or weaknesses. A quirk of his eyebrow or the hint of a smile hiding behind his full beard might give her a momentary insight into what he was thinking, but unless he was gracing her with a full-on laugh or dictatorial yelling, she never quite felt on even footing with him.

Maybe that was by design and cultivated through years of practice pretending not to feel anything or care about anyone, but it he’s no less imposing for it – then or now.

“I wasn’t sure I’d say you today, though I guess I should have been.” From anyone else that would be an olive branch of sorts, a way of saying, “ _hey you got one over on me_ ,” but from him it’s just a matter of fact. Something to get her talking.

It works.

“If it makes you feel better I didn’t expect to see you, or Noah.”

He nods. Answers, “It does a little, actually. Thanks for that.”

She knows it’s in her best interest to keep this little charade going, to pretend like none of this matters and she can’t feel her heart beating in her chest and behind her eyes and in her ears, but the fact of the matter is that in that moment she just doesn’t have it in her not to ask, no matter how weak it makes her look. Even to him.

“How did you do it? Make it look like Noah was dead that day. Why…?”

“I don’t know how. I wasn’t there. When I told you afterwards that I didn’t know about it and didn’t have anything to do with him being killed, I wasn’t lying. Oscar didn’t loop me in on that one until it was over.” The tense shrug of his shoulder is the only indication he shows that he’s still not happy about that and she’s surprised he lets her see even that much. “As for the why, I told you. He was a mission. No one told you to fall in love with him.”

“That how it normally works for you, old man?” His grimace at the nickname almost makes her want to smile, almost brings her back to the days when he was her only confidant and closest friend and she could trust him with anything.

Of course, it also reminds her that she settled on the nickname as a way to put some space between them, to remind herself that he wasn’t her friend or peer...he was her boss, if that was even the right word for it. He was her captain.

“Is that how what normally works for me?”

“Being told when to fall in love and who to fall in love with. Is that how the process has historically worked for you?”

He laughs and it’s the first time she’s felt legitimately uncomfortable, like he’s angry with her. Like he’s dangerous. He must see it in her eyes, because he hangs his head for a moment and when he answers her his voice is as sincere as she ever remembers hearing it, even if he won’t look at her. “No. Not at all. Mostly it hits me like a fucking bolt of lightning and rips my world apart at the seams.”

She stares, nonplussed by the confession, and his answering laughter seems to be completely genuine this time. “Jesus, recruit, you should have told me years ago that’s all it would take you shut you up. We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble and had a heart to heart over hot chocolate.”

If she had any control over it, the look of shock she knows is on her face would actually be stoney indifference, but that’s never been their dynamic. If it’s impossible for her to read him, unless he wants her to, then she might as well be a book open and waiting for his perusal. “You’re an asshole.”

“Never claimed different. That was just one of the lies you told yourself.”

“Yeah.” She’s tilting into the anger now, she knows it and she knows it makes her messy, but again, can’t seem to stop. “What else? What other lies did tell myself? That you were actually a good person and not a mindless drone following Oscar’s orders.”

“Yeah, that’s another good example.”

“What else?”

“Full list or Sparknotes version?”

“You tell me, old man. We’re waiting on your men to cart me off to my death. What do we have time for?”

After a quick glance at his watch–pointless, she knows there’s no way they aren’t already surrounded–he nods and answers, “Full list then.”

“Go for it.” Maybe it will give her time to get the hell out of there, or at least think up a plan to get to her laptop and destroy it before he can use any of the information on it against anyone who has helped her over the years.

“First, and this is a big one, Noah Casey was never worth your time or your love.”

Though at this point she isn’t sure she disagrees it seems disrespectful to what she thought she had with the man not to mount even a cursory defense, so… “That’s not for you to decide. It never was.”

“Maybe, but you asked for the truth and that’s it. There was never going to be a happily ever after between you two. Oscar offered him the chance to move up in the world, to help bring his app live, and he jumped at it without a second thought to what what happen to you or anyone else. You were at that party tonight because you’d heard it was his work–something similar to what he created years ago–going live and you wanted to see what hand Division had it in, right?”

He doesn’t bother waiting for her answer, they both know it’s true. “The truth is, the idea was his, but Division gave him all the money and manpower he needed to bring it life and he happily sold his soul and the information of millions of users to get what he wanted. Success. He wasn’t lied to, Baker. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

“That’s…” She wants to say it’s surprising or hurtful or wrong, but she knew from the second she saw Noah’s face across the crowded ballroom what the truth really was. He’d been surprised, but not happy. Terrified was a better word. Because he knew why she was there–to take Division down. To take him down. “What else? What other lies have I told myself?”

“That you could take Division apart from the inside. That you are or ever were anything but a tiny thorn in Oscar’s and Division’s side. You overplay your hand every damn time. Bringing in a new recruit was a smart move, one that probably would have netted you a good amount of information, but you just couldn’t settle in for the long haul...had to push too far, too fast.”

“Mike…” She’s pretty sure she’s going to sick up what little bit of food is in her stomach. The one saving grace that she’s been holding onto was that they didn’t know about Cara, that she hadn’t gotten someone else killed and now even that little glimmer of hope is fucked all to hell.

“Don’t! I’m talking now, recruit. Time to listen.” She knows the look on his face, it’s his teaching a lesson face and she wants to tell him that he’s not her trainer anymore, but she’s lost the upper hand and she knows that too. And, worse that than, he’s right.

She can’t count the number of times he’s yelled at her over the years for rushing into something headlong or making moves, even the correct moves, without thinking of the consequences. And now in her haste to win and to beat Division, she’s forfeited someone else’s life.

“You trained her well. At first she hit all the right notes: secretive, pissed off, careless. It was smart having her take a run at me that first day. She reminded me of you right from the start, but the cilantro thing, the grape soda, even the damn humming. Jesus, Baker, how dense do you think I am?”

So okay, telling Cara to lean into her aversion to cilantro and love of grape soda was probably a little heavy-handed and unnecessary, but humming...what the hell was that? “I don’t hum.”

“You don’t…” He looks incredulous and, if she’s not wrong, offended. “You hum through your whole yoga routine. Off key. At least she’s got you beat there; she can carry a damn tune. I’m surprised we couldn’t find you just from the animals howling in pain all around.”

“Well, that’s unnecessarily cruel.”

“Unnecessarily cruel?” His grin is wide and genuine and his whole fucking face lights up when he looks at her. “You know what happens next, right Baker? I turn you over to Amelia and Oscar and they kill you, probably torture you first, but saying you hum off key is cruel?”

“You never heard of adding insult to injury?”

“God, I’ve missed you.” It’s an offhand, careless thing to say and clearly doesn’t provoke any meaningful or deep-seated feelings in him, but it’s a sucker punch straight to her gut. Because she’s missed him too. Missed the rare moments when she can actually elicit that laugh from him, missed having someone to talk to at night when the light wasn’t there to chase away the dark shadows of the past.

She feels like a child for thinking it, let alone for saying it, but still… “You missed me?”

“Yeah.” The humor is gone from his face and what’s left is a man who looks lost and tired. _When did he get so tired?_  “You keep me honest.”

“I missed you, too. You keep me sane.”

“Jesus, Ginny.” He lets out a breath that it sounds like he’s been holding for two full years. “What are we supposed to do here?”

“Ginny? That’s a first.” Recruit. Baker. Occasionally smartass or brat. Those are the names he calls her. Never Ginny. It’s an odd first to be having right now, before he does what he has to do and turns her over to Oscar, but still there’s a warmth that spreads out from her chest and into her fingertips and toes and she feels alive for the first time in a long time.

The look on his face changes again, the warmth is still there, underneath the wall he’s building back up brick by brick, but there’s something else too. He looks… God, he looks legitimately scared. “What’s wrong?”

“Look around you, Baker. Everything’s wrong.”

Back to Baker again. Well, that’s fine. She can deal with that as long as he keeps talking. “You know what I mean, Lawson. You look–”

“It’s not just Cara. I know about Evelyn, too. I know she’s been helping you.”

_No. No, no, no_. “Mike. You can’t–you wouldn’t…”

“I’m Oscar’s mindless drone, remember? You know I can. I’ve done it before, turned someone over to him without a thought.” There’s a bitterness to his voice and she isn’t sure if it’s borne from being angry at her or himself.

“She’s your friend. She’s Blip’s...No. You’re better than this.” She’s not sure when, but at some point he dropped the gun on the counter and let it rest there. But when she gets up and moves towards him he reaches for it again. It’s instinctive, she knows, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Are you gonna kill me right here in my home? It would make sense. Get rid of me before Amelia can take a run at me, protect Cara, protect Evy.” She’s actually coming around to the idea, now that’s she’s saying it out loud, so she takes another step towards him and another and another, until they’re face to face.

She can feel his eyelashes flutter closed. His tongue delicately brushing across hers lips, wetting them both. It’s not the first time they’ve been this close, but there’s intent this time. It’s not an accident of training or something that can be written off as necessary to complete a mission.

“You could do it right now.” She takes his hand her hers, so they’re both holding the gun. “Just be done with it and save us all the trouble of the fallout we know is coming. Cara will be a good operative if you train her and Evy won’t go against Division without me whispering in her ear.” She’s desperate now, her finger on the trigger as they both drag the gun from the countertop and let it rest at their side. “I’d be free. You’d be free. It would all be over.”

“And then what?” His lips are dry now and at her ear, little puffs of air sending shivers down her spine and into her core. “Then what do I do without you?”

“Survive.”

His laugh is humorless and his lips are on hers. The kiss is soft at first, almost chaste, and she can’t stand leisurely pace of it. She wants more, everything. She tugs at his bottom lip and reaches up with her free hand, scratches at his beard as he moans into her mouth and dives deeper.

“See,” his lips turn up into a smile against her mouth, her cheek, her forehead as he drops little kisses across her face, “this is what I’m talking about, recruit. Always rushing. Would it kill you just once to hold off and savor the moment? It’s worth, I swear.”

“My way’s good too.” She steps into him, wraps her leg around his, and rocks into him once. His sigh tells her that he feels the heat of her against him and the flutter of his eyes tell her that he’s coming around to her way of doing things.

He holds her still, reaches up to hold her leg against him as she balances on one stiletto heel. “How about a compromise.”

“Yeah, what does that look–Jesus.” His hand is moving up the inside of her thigh, nails lightly scratching along the way, and the black dress she’s wearing – was wearing for the fancy party she crashed earlier – is short enough that he doesn’t even have to move it aside to be able to cup her where she’s hot and wet and ready for him.

Her head falls back and her muscles and bones feel like jelly, barely able to support her as he pushes her up against the counter to hold her up. They’re both still holding the gun, gripping it for dear life, a forgotten remnant of their earlier hostilities.

He pushes aside the tiny lace panties she’s wearing, more a formality than an actual undergarment, and strokes the sensitive skin he uncovers. When he moves his hand to lift her leg higher, adjust her so she’s exactly what he wants her, the wetness he gathered on his fingertips smears against her inner thigh and she whimpers in his ear.

It’s a helpless sound and she wants to regret it, especially when she lifts her head and sees the smug look on his face, but it doesn’t seem worth it when he’s giving her exactly what she wants. “That better, Baker? A little more your pace.”

She nods against his shoulder and answers, “Yes.”

He’s toying with her now, running his fingers over her delicate skin, but refusing to push inside her no matter how much she writhes against him. “Please...Mike…”

“Please what?” He ducks his head and scrapes his beard over chest as he licks and bites at the base of her neck. “Tell me what you like.”

“Inside...need your fingers inside of me.”

“Yeah, like this?” He finds her clit, circles it carefully, adding pressure as he goes and she gasps into his shoulder. “Or this?” His fingers glide down a little further, one barely pushing into her as she grinds down into his hand.

“That...yes, that, please.”

“How many? One.” He pushes a finger inside her, offers her a couple of strokes before adding another. “Two?” And another. “Three?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She leaning fully against him now, her forehead resting on his shoulder as she pulls in deep gulps of hair. She’s not sure when it happened, but his free hand is in her hair, tightening around her curls and pulling her head back so she can look him in the eye and she’s close, so close. She just needs a little more...just one more thing…just... “My name.”

“What?” His voice is shaky, the question barely audible, and if any part of her was coherent then she’d be proud of that.

“Say my name, please. I want to hear you say it.”

“Ginny.”

“More.” He nods and repeats her name with each stroke as his fingers curl inside her. Ginny. Ginny. Ginny.

She can feel the release of tension and the burst of heat moving through her muscle by muscle, every inch of her loosening and letting him in. When she finally comes it’s with his name on her lips...his name on hers, a desperate whisper.

She waits for the regret to come, but it doesn’t. Not when he adjust her panties and eases her leg down, not when his fingers loosen in her hair and dance down her back to hold her waist, and not when he brings his free hand up to caress her face, leaving a little bit of her own slickness behind on her cheek.

“What now?”

“Savor, recruit. How many times to we have to go over this lesson?”

“I don’t know, that’s a tough one. Might have to revisit it again.”

He chuckles into her hair and it sounds free, nice. Like something she could get used to without even trying, but that takes her back to that first lesson, again: Emotions. They fuck everything up.

Her fingers tighten around the gun they’re both still holding and she can feel him tense up against her, “Don’t.”

“Our original problem still exists, Mike. I’m taking Division down.”

He lets go of the gun and she recognizes the move for what it is, a peace offering. “I know. I’m not fighting you on that. We just need to be more careful about it than you’ve been. It’s gonna take time.”

“What?” She’s still holding the gun when she pulls back, searches his face for some sign of deceit. She sees none and wants to believe him, but he’s a good liar. Always has been. “I don’t–”

“Oscar and Amelia don’t know I’m here, Gin. This wasn’t a Division mission–there’s not team waiting to burst in and take you back. Evy was on comms tonight, Blip was my backup, and Cara and Livan were on Noah. I convinced Oscar that there was no way you’d show. No way you’d be that stupid–”

“Wha–?”

“Shut up. Listen. We can do this. We’ve got your back, but you have to trust me. Can you do that?” The pads of his fingers are circling her lower back in a gentle massage and that feeling alone makes her want to agree. To jump all in, but there’s so much history. So many lies between them. “I need you to trust me. You’re not alone anymore. Even if you aren’t sure yet, everyone else is. I’m good, Gin, but I can’t lie to everyone. Someone would have caught on. And look at this this way, Livan and Blip still think of you as a little sister. If I double cross you then at least you’ll die knowing I’ll spend what little life I have left suffering at their hands.”

“There is that.” This time when he reaches for the gun, she lets him take it and watches as he puts it down on the counter. “So you’re in then? Michael Lawson, perfect soldier, gearing up to take down Division.”

“All in.”

“All right, recruit. Let’s get you updated.” He grimaces and rolls his eyes as she laughs at her own joke, the sound reverberating throughout the house.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those taking a second look at this, you may have noticed the Summary and first part of the story changed a bit. Sorry about that. I posted this on my phone and things got a little mixed up. Also, the first Summary sort of made it seem like Mike was dead and I didn't want to leave it like that.


End file.
